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Love ya forever buddy,
Fi
I swallowed down the hurt in my throat. I would not cry. I would not. Because she was happy. She found her peaceful place, just like she wanted. And I’d rather it be me who was left lonely than her sitting here without me. So why did my stomach feel so heavy? Why did my eyes burn so fucking bad?
I stared down at her handwriting and my vision blurred.Fuck. I put my head down on my desk, willing myself to get my shit together, but the loneliness felt suffocating. I couldn’t shake the sadness, the bitterness. It was all encompassing, closing in on me, making it so I could barely breathe or else I’d cry. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. God. How many times was this going to happen to me?
“Jettersen!”
Shit.I quickly tried to wipe away my face. There’s no way in hell I wanted these assholes in class to see me cry.
But I guess I didn’t pull myself up in time.
A second later, water was aggressively sprayed at the side of my head like I was a misbehaving puppy being punished. Kids around me burst into laughter.
No, no, no…
My fingers trembled as I looked down at the note on my desk. Fat water droplets from the teacher’s damn squirt bottle dripped on it, blurring her loopy letters together, erasing the ‘Love ya forever buddy.’
“I warned you,” Mr. B barked on his way back to his desk. “Head up, Jettersen. Pay attention!” His voice sounded like it was coming from underwater and my whole body shook with rage. It took all I had not to jump up and attack the bastard, not to punch his face in… Because he just took this onelastpiece of her from me, and I felt like combusting inside.
I quickly rubbed my arm over my eyes.Fuck. Not here. Not right now,I ordered myself, because everyone’s eyes were on me. But despite my best effort, my chin quivered, and I couldn’t fucking take it. I was gonna lose it.
Keeping my head down, I quickly grabbed up my backpack and stalked out of the room.
“Mr. Jettersen! Where do you think you’re going, young man?” Mr. B yelled at me. “Back to your seat. Stop walkingright now.”
The anger and grief building inside me twisted together, making me tremble. And I knew if I stopped, I’d wreck my entire life by slugging him in the face. Instead, I pulled the door open and slammed it shut behind me.
I stood there in the locker lined hallway feeling the reverberation from the door… and from her. Echoes of Fi were everywhere. The colorful memory of her tugging me along to find trouble clashed with the silent, dark, loneliness I was left in.
I could practically still see her throwing her head back with laughter, her misty eyes when she was fighting tears, the mischievous grin she’d get when she came up with what she deemed was atremendousidea, the way she’d shove her hair behind her ears when she was nervous.
I’d seen Fi in all states, and I loved her through them all. We were there for each other. It was an unspoken promise, but it was there.
She was the kind of girl who changed your life forever. The kind of girl you loved forever.
So how could she just begone? How could she leave me behind like this?
My throat burned as I walked through the school, and I tried to keep my shit together. I really, really tried… but with every step forward, I was breaking down. Choking on sobs. Wheezing for air. Crying over losing her. Crying over that fucking asshole destroying her note. And I really should’ve just left the school…
Instead, I found myself wandering down the art hallway, and my heart seized when the display case came into sight. The paintings that hung there hadn’t been switched out since June.
There, in the center of the case, was her painting: A beautiful sunset streaking the sky and the outline of a car with two teenagers sitting on top of it. The little piece of tape underneath it read: Dreamy by Fiona Haley.
Seeing it snapped me back to the spring when she first showed it to me…
“Is that us?” I asked in awe.
Her lips twisted and she blushed, looking almost shy—an emotion that rarely ever crossed her face.
“Itisus!” I picked her up and swung her around, making her giggle. “It’s amazing, Fi,” I told her when I placed her back on her feet. I rested my chin on her head, and she stayed content in my arms. “My favorite thing you’ve ever made.”
“What? Better than the vagina pot?!” she chortled.
In ceramics class, she accidentally made a clay creation that resembled female anatomy and only realized it after I pointed it out.
“Yes,” I laughed, squeezing her waist. “Damn, you’re so talented.”
